Paper Lanterns
by JubileeKnight
Summary: Mordecai and Rosalie go undercover (after a fashion), Flavian is the most long-suffering friend in existence, and Chrestomanci's aides and his chief assistant do manage to work well together between the bickering.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: The Chronicles of Chrestomanci and all characters and settings appearing in this fic are the property of Diana Wynne Jones's estate.

Paper Lanterns

Part One

Mordecai blinked and rubbed his eyes. This was the fourth report he'd searched for a lead. He'd read the same sentence three times over, and the words were beginning to blur together. He'd tried taking it to the chaise lounge by the lamp for better light and a fresh perspective, but it hadn't helped. He needed a distraction. He raised himself up on his elbows and looked at his companions, both of them deep in similar study. "Rosalie-" he cajolingly.

"No," said Rosalie automatically from her chair by the coffee table. They were gathered in Mordecai's rooms because Gabriel was engaged with the Prime Minister in a meeting to which not even Rosalie was privy and a magical accident had left the library in desperate need of cleaning.

Mordecai's exasperation was written plainly on his face. Rosalie could not have missed it if she'd looked up from the report she was reviewing, which she didn't. "You don't even know what I was going to ask."

"The same thing you asked the last three times," she replied in clipped tones. "There is no room for new evening wear in the Castle budget." She looked up, daring him to contradict her assumption.

Had it been three? Surely not. "You'll regret that the next time the Government drops a pack of ambassadors on us without warning and Gabriel asks you to play hostess," said Mordecai.

Rosalie looked around the room pointedly. "A wardrobe," she said primly. "Does not need to take up half one's quarters. Mine is perfectly suitable. Nor does one need two pairs of boating shoes when we haven't a lake _or_ a boat."

"Oh, come now!" Mordecai followed her gaze. Half was a gross overstatement. It couldn't be more than a quarter, with another quarter taken up with books, a gramophone, and various magical implements. Overall, he considered the rooms to be quite tastefully decorated. "As for suitable, I'd call it barely adequate when we find ourselves with guests for three weeks." Still ruffled, he gave her a smile that usually won him an extra biscuit from Sally at supper. "Though you make anything look ravishing."

Rosalie colored, although she appeared more irritated than pleased by the compliment. "I'm sure you'll make do."

"It's best to be prepared." Mordecai looked to the third person in the room for help. "Aren't I right, Flavian?"

Flavian, seated at Mordecai's writing desk with the London paper spread out in front of him, had the good sense not to be drawn into the debate. "I still haven't found a hint of where Edward Elliot is now-" he said.

" _Not_ in a tailor's shop," said Rosalie with the air of having scored a point.

Before Mordecai could contest the victory, Flavian continued. "But I think I know where he'll be next Saturday."

That got their attention. Flavian brought the newspaper over to the coffee table and laid it across the piles of reports, photographs and clippings through which they had been working their way. Rosalie leaned across the table to see, and Mordecai came all the way off the chaise to stand and look over Flavian's shoulder. "What have you found?"

Flavian cleared his throat and read from the announcements. "'Charles and Sylvia Howe will be marrying their daughter, Charlotte Howe, to David Phillips, Esq. on Saturday, Twenty-seven October, at two o'clock in the afternoon. Family and friends will attend the wedding at the Howe Family Chapel and the dinner following…'" He folded the newspaper and began digging through the stack of documents on the table. "Where was that photograph?"

Mordecai and Rosalie joined the search. The excitement of a breakthrough after an investigation replete with one dead end after another infected all of them. Rosalie was the one to find the photograph. Eleven men in cricket whites, and there in the middle, arms across each other's shoulders and helpfully identified by the caption, stood David Phillips and Edward Elliot. "Well done, Flavian!" said Mordecai, clapping his friend on the back.

"Gabriel will want to coordinate with the local police," said Rosalie. "A week should give us time to set up outside the estate. Are they bringing in any extra staff for the occasion? It would be better if we could get someone inside."

"I'll check again," said Flavian. "But perhaps we could have a word with the Howes?"

"Leave that to me," said Mordecai, rubbing his hands together and grinning. "I played cricket with Franklin Howe at school. He wrote me that Charlotte was getting married, but I didn't remember the groom's name. I can probably wangle an invitation. Say I'm planning to be in the area." His forehead wrinkled thoughtfully. "Come to think of it, I may even have one somewhere." He patted his pockets, then began rummaging through desk drawers. "Aha!" he said, waving an ornately-decorated envelope triumphantly. He tore open the wax seal and began reading. "'Mr and Mrs Charles Howe request your presence…' Yes, this is it." His voice turned wistful. "I wouldn't mind seeing the place again. The grounds are beautiful."

"Do they have a lake?" asked Rosalie, a little pinker and more pointed than before. "Perhaps you can get some use out of those boating shoes." She pinched the bridge of her nose and added, less briskly. "Try, at any rate, if it isn't too late to accept. It's the best we have to go on. Can you get Flavian in with you?"

Mordecai sat down across from her, reading the calligraphy. "I can try. I do have a plus one, although it would draw less attention if I had a lady with me…" He raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

Rosalie looked doubtful. "I'll see if Yolande or Beryl can be spared."

That was not at all what Mordecai was hoping for, lovely as both ladies were. Flavian, bless him, came to the rescue. "Aren't they attending the Witches' Benevolent Society next weekend?"

Rosalie looked as if she wanted to say something sharp, but one couldn't be sharp with Flavian. He was too nice; it was impossible. Mordecai envied him that trait (among others). "You're right. I forgot it was rescheduled." She frowned at Mordecai. "Since when have you cared about drawing attention?"

"I'm heeding your lectures," said Mordecai brightly. "Turning over a new leaf. Come along. I can guarantee we'll only turn the right kind of heads."

That nearly seemed to fluster her, but she pursed her lips together firmly. "Heaven knows you need a chaperone."

That was as good as a victory. Mordecai beamed. "Exactly! Think of the trouble I could get into on my own."

Rosalie's pinched expression suggested she was, indeed, imagining it. "All right then," she said, at last.

"Perfect," said Mordecai. "I'll accept for two. Flavian can be our back up." He beamed at Flavian, as well.

Flavian only shook his head. Aloud, he said. "I can be there in a moment, if you need me."

"So that's settled," said Mordecai. "Now we just need something appropriate to wear." He raised his eyebrows hopefully.

Exasperated, Rosalie shook her head. " _No,_ Mordecai."

#


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: The Chronicles of Chrestomanci and all characters and settings appearing in this fic are the property of Diana Wynne Jones's estate.

Paper Lanterns

Part Two

The wedding was a beautiful affair. The Howes had spared no expense on their daughter's nuptials, and the bride and groom looked genuinely enraptured with each other. Mordecai caught a glimpse of Edward Elliot during the service, but by agreement with Rosalie, opted not to confront the man until later. The police officers outside the perimeter were alert for his description, and Flavian was abroad on the grounds near the house (an assistant groundskeeper had mysteriously come down with a fever shortly before the wedding and the Head Gardener had been grateful to accept his 'cousin' as a replacement once Flavian had proven himself) both keeping watch and collecting evidence. After going through the receiving line, they separated by mutual consent and mingled among the guests.

Mordecai was pretending to sip a glass of Pinot Noir when the bride approached him with a half-chiding smile. "You know, you disappointed a number of my bridesmaids by arriving with such a lovely lady on your arm," she said.

"Charlotte!" said Mordecai, smiling. "Mrs. Phillips, I should say!" He raised her hand, kissed it, and then laughed at her assertion. "I doubt any of them know me from Adam, although I admit to being the luckiest man in the room. Well-" He inclined his head and corrected himself. "Second luckiest."

Charlotte laughed. "Still the gentleman!" she said approvingly. "You know no one can outshine the bride on her wedding day."

"The radiance of young love!" replied Mordecai, raising his eyebrows. Charlotte _did_ look beautiful, with the wedding veil laid aside to show off her dark hair. "It suits you," he added sincerely.

Charlotte shook her head in amusement. "Mordecai Robert's, I can never tell if you're a cynic or a true romantic, but I _am_ happy. David is wonderful." She paused to greet another old friend and then turned back to him. "And I'm not the only one! Tell me, when am I wishing you joy?"

Startled, Mordecai glanced across room at Rosalie. Their eyes met, and Rosalie pursed her lips before turning away to reply to another lady's address. There was a very fetching color to her cheeks, but Mordecai would hardly have said they were glowing with affection.

A peal of laughter from his companion drew him back to the moment. "I meant you!" said Charlotte. She tapped his chest lightly with her bouquet. "You're quite smitten. I never thought I'd see it, but it looks well on you."

"Oh, well." Mordecai was suddenly uncomfortable, even if that was, after all, the image they sought to project. Perhaps because Charlotte was such an old friend, he didn't like the idea of deceiving her. He gestured deprecatingly with his glass and said, "In all honesty, Rosalie is just a good friend. She's a colleague who took pity on me and saved me from attending alone."

"Hmm," murmured Charlotte with disbelief. "Because you always lack so very much for admirers. She must be a _very_ good friend to come to your rescue and brave the green eyed monsters."

Mordecai felt caught. _Charlotte_ had been a very good friend once upon a time, at least until her brother Franklin had taken Mordecai aside for a discussion of the realities of class and fortune and appropriate prospects. Mordecai had solemnly agreed with Frank that a future outside of good company was neither possible nor desirable - and Charlotte had always been good company.

"And no older brothers to appall, I understand," Charlotte added, as if she were reading his thoughts.

He straightened. Stiffly, he said, "I would never take advantage of a lady without friends." Not that he would call Rosalie friendless, but that was not the point.

Charlotte paused to take a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and sip. "No you wouldn't," she mused. A moment later, she relented and smiled. "I was teasing. I truly am happy for you. She clearly adores you."

Mordecai took a sip from his own glass, set it on the tray to be taken away, and laughed. "Now, I'm certain you're mistaken. Rosalie is very aware of my shortcomings. She reminds me of them daily."

Unconvinced, Charlotte shook her head again. "Oh, you _are_ in trouble," she said. "A lady only attempts to fix a man she expects to get value out of."

"I doubt that," Mordecai contradicted lightly, although the characterization rather nettled him. "She's well aware I've no prospects."

"Only good company," said Charlotte, a little mischievously.

Mordecai cleared his throat and recovered his composure. "Only as good as the excellent company which I keep," he said gallantly. It really was time to put an end to this conversation. "Where is David? I ought to congratulate him."

Charlotte glanced around the room. "He was with Edward. You might ask him." She nodded towards the French doors. "He's out on terrace, chatting with your lovely _colleague_." She laid a teasing emphasis on last word, then, when Mordecai startled and turned that way, she added, "Don't look so concerned! I doubt he's going to steal her away... although Edward _does_ have reputation as charmer…"

He barely heard what she said next. Straining to see through the crowd, he caught sight of Rosalie talking with Edward Elliot. "If you'll excuse me," he said, distractedly.

Charlotte laughed. "Of course! Go on."

He put Charlotte's amusement from his mind, keeping his eyes on Rosalie and Elliot. It looked to be an ordinary conversation, but if Edward suspected Rosalie… Mordecai felt for his pocket watch. The metal was warmer than could be accounted for by heat of his body. Blast. He opened the watch and made a show of checking the time. The inscription on the inside cover twisted before his eyes into a message, and Mordecai cursed silently. He replaced the watch in his waistcoat and reached for his cigarette case, nodding brief greetings to those he passed on his progress through the room **.** Mordecai rarely smoked. The case held only two slim white cigarettes, but it was convenient for carrying other things: a scrap of writing paper, a spare button, a needle, a loop of thread (seamen learned how to make quick repairs, and Mordecai had been raised by one), and a curl of hair that would have raised Charlotte's eyebrows.

Mordecai separated the needle, the paper, and the lock of hair from the rest and pressed them across one another. "South terrace. On my way," he muttered under his breath, and then smiled broadly and nodded as he passed one of the bridesmaids to whom Charlotte had alluded earlier.

He sidestepped a waiter, who carried a tray of wine glasses, with an apology. As an afterthought, he took two glasses from the tray. He approached Rosalie and Elliot with both hands occupied which hopefully made him appear harmless if their target was harboring any suspicions.

"Miss Rosalie?" he said, offering one glass to Rosalie.

She looked primly at him, but took the glass. "Mr Roberts, how kind of you to join us. Have you met Mr. Elliot?"

Elliot answered for him. "A friend of Frank and Charlotte's, yes?" he said heartily, taking Mordecai's free hand in a crushing handshake.

Mordecai smiled, although he wanted to wince. "I am. Old teammates, you know. Frank and I played together at Kings College. Of course, I had to come to see Charlotte off."

"Of course," said Elliot. "David made quite a coup there."

"A fortunate man," Mordecai agreed. His fingers were losing feeling. He turned a brilliant smile on Rosalie, eyes crinkling with mischief. "Almost as fortunate as me."

She couldn't very well snap at him and maintain the part they were playing, and her eyes flashed in recognition of that fact before she smiled sweetly back. She was going to be furious with him when this was over, Mordecai thought without regret. "Mr. Elliot was just telling me a fascinating tale of his adventures," she said pointedly.

Elliot seemed to catch the irritation in her voice because his smile turned slightly smug. "Oh, just a bit of a lark from my tour of Europe after school," he said.

"Don't be so modest, Mr. Elliot," Rosalie replied, a little too admiringly for anyone who actually knew her.

If she was going to take that lead, Mordecai could play the part of the jealous beau well enough. Knowing what he did of the case, it wasn't difficult to let his smile stiffen when Elliot visibly returned the admiration (any fool could see Rosalie was lovely, and Elliot clearly wasn't blind).

"Indeed," Mordecai said jovially, finally extricating his hand and wiggling his fingers slightly to return the circulation. "Charlotte had quite a bit to say about you. Quite the charmer, she said," he laughed, unconvincingly. "Actually, I was hoping to learn more about your work in dream study, perhaps introduce you to a colleague." It was perfectly within character to edge himself ever so slightly between the two of them and smile over Elliot's shoulder as if contemplating nudging the other man off the terrace.

Elliot beamed back, equally falsely. "Oh, I'm happy to go into detail, but we shouldn't bore the lady with work, particularly not at a wedding."

Rosalie protested, "Oh, but I'm quite interested, as well." Mordecai glanced over his shoulder at her, and their eyes met briefly, in agreement. "Perhaps, you'd join us after the reception?" she added.

Elliot reached past Mordecai and pressed her hand. "Miss Rosalie," he said warmly (much too warmly, Mordecai thought, for a first meeting). "I would be happy to join you for conversation … and to toast to our friends and their new union. Perhaps at the tavern in the village?"

Mordecai was most certainly not gritting his teeth. "How about Chrestomanci Castle?" he asked, pleasantly.

Elliot blinked, as if in confusion, but Mordecai saw the runner's stance beginning. "Pardon?" he asked blankly.

Briskly, Rosalie took up the thread. "Monsignor deWitt would like to speak with you regarding some applications of your research," she said.

Elliot dropped Rosalie's hand. For a moment, Mordecai was certain the man would try to bolt, but instead he raised his hands and began chanting a spell. Rosalie was a beat later. Still trying to work the cramps out of his right hand, Mordecai dispensed with magic and threw his glass in Elliot's face. He was sputtering when a spell hit him from behind, paralyzing him.

Flavian lowered his hands and climbed the terrace to join them. He was panting a little when he reached the top. "Sorry I was late," he said. "I was taking a look at his rooms. He's dreadfully careless. There's no lack of evidence there."

"Your timing was perfect, Flavian," said Rosalie. She threw Mordecai a look he'd certainly done nothing to deserve, and then added, "Would you do the honors?"

Ignoring the frown, Mordecai patted his pockets for a handkerchief. Finding it, he helped to haul Elliot to his feet and began mopping the dripping face while Flavian informed Elliot that he was under arrest. The man did not struggle further. Flavian's spell had dropped him hard enough to bruise on the terrace steps, and his eyes must be burning from the wine.

The incident had certainly drawn attention, however. Mr. Howe charged over, closely followed by his son and son-in-law. "Just what is going on here?" he demanded.

#


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: The Chronicles of Chrestomanci and all characters and settings appearing in this fic are the property of Diana Wynne Jones's estate.

Paper Lanterns

Part Three

It was a good half hour of Rosalie's firm explanations and another while Mrs. Howe and Mrs. Phillips calmed the guests (primarily with the liberal distribution of refreshments) before they were prepared to depart with their prisoner. Mordecai took a moment to make his regrets to Charlotte who had changed into a traveling dress in the interim.

"Are we free to leave now?" she asked coolly as he approached.

Mordecai smiled broadly. "Oh, certainly! We've no call to keep you."

Charlotte did not smile back. "You know David had half a mind to call you out," she said. "I talked him down, but I'd half a mind to let him. You might have _said_ you intended to arrest a guest at my wedding."

Mordecai shrugged apologetically. "I'm sorry for the trouble, but it couldn't be helped."

She pursed her lips in frustration, reminding him briefly of Rosalie. "Of course, it could!" she said. "There was no call for making a scene. What does deWitt want with Edward anyway?"

"I'm not at liberty to say," Mordecai replied, shaking his head. "But hiring a lawyer wouldn't go amiss for him." Privately he doubted how much a barrister could do for Elliot, considering the man's research had gone to aid an appalling human trafficking ring. Still, he might be able to bargain for a reduced sentence if he could offer up the leaders of the organization. Mordecai didn't like to pass judgment on most men - if his father's faith held any truth, then he had enough black marks on his own tally - but he would feel a certain satisfaction in helping to put Edward Elliot behind bars.

Charlotte regarded him meditatively. "I think I'll advise David to keep his distance," she said. "I won't have our wedding tour ruined by politics."

"Where are you traveling?" Mordecai asked. "Rome? Venice?"

"No, thank you," said Charlotte, smiling finally, but quite decided. "I don't want any uninvited guests of your sort." She looked past him.

Mordecai glanced over his shoulder to see Flavian, Elliot and a number of police officers disappear. Rosalie watched them go, holding her skirts out of the way of a pentagram drawn into the gravel of the drive. He turned back. "That's rather unkind," he said. "You can't fault a man for doing his job. David, unfortunately, picked a poor friend."

"They were very close at university, but they've hardly seen one another since," said Charlotte dismissively. She looked pointedly at him. "But you know how a wedding brings all the old hangers on out of the woodwork."

Mordecai only smiled more broadly. "Guilty as charged! It was good to see you, other circumstances aside. I'll toast to you tonight, wherever you may be."

Charlotte shook her head. "And I will pray for your lovely colleague," she said with another glance over his shoulder. "I do believe she'll need it. Good-bye, Mordecai."

She didn't wait for an _au revoir_ , but then the commotion surrounding Elliot had delayed her departure long enough, and David was waiting rather impatiently by the carriage that would take them to the train station.

"Are you coming, Mordecai?" asked Rosalie at his elbow. "The others have gone on to the Castle. We don't have time to dawdle."

Mordecai thrust Charlotte's parting words to the back of his mind. She'd been an inveterate matchmaker in the old days, and when she had a notion in mind, it was difficult to shake it out of her. "We can stay to see the newlyweds on their way, can't we?" he asked. "It's only polite. We did rather disrupt the reception."

"Really-"

"It's just a moment," he said and pointed. "Look, they're starting off now."

The carriage started moving as he spoke. Further down the balcony, Mrs. Howe waved a hand and the colored lanterns that had illuminated the garden rose from the grass and into the sky, twinkling around them, lighting the couple out of sight.

Mordecai risked a glance sideways. It was difficult to judge in the twilight, but Rosalie's practicality seemed to have melted a bit. He smiled, rested his elbows on the railing of the balcony and settled in to watch as the lanterns continued to rise above the house and trees, mingling with the stars.

When they were no more than pinpricks of light in the distance, Mordecai held out his arm. "That went well, I think."

Rosalie sniffed. "Eventually," she said, threading a hand through his arm. "Thanks to Flavian."

"I helped!" said Mordecai indignantly, turning them toward the pentagram in the drive. "Not even a thank you for distracting him? Do you know what alcohol to the face does to the eyes?"

"I'm sure I don't," she said tartly, using her free hand to keep her gown from trailing through the lines of the diagram. "However, I'm not surprised that you do."

That, Mordecai felt, was uncalled for. He defied her to name a time that he hadn't played the part of a gentleman. "I'll have to put in a claim for a cleaning bill," he said, stepping into the circle. Rosalie looked at him sharply. As the view of the Howe Estate faded around them into the Great Hall of Chrestomanci Castle, he smiled mischievously at her. "Have you any idea what it takes to get red wine out of a silk shirt?"

"Aren't you glad it isn't new, then?" she said.

 _Fin._


End file.
